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Night Is Dancing


Even moths fell in slumber round the lamp
and a cricket, and the garden went silent -
for the night was dancing round the flower-bed,
shaking her bangles;
musical dust splashed from under her feet,
and with painful glow flew towards us,
her arms whirled in emerald circles,
thrown up on and on again.
Suddenly an iris bloomed down at the fence
staring into the night's eyes,
drowsy starlings came out of their little homes
to give at least a glance to the danceress;
while she, round the flowerbed with a jingle-jingle,
danced again and again, and round again,
until the garden, touched with her feet,
became a jingling emerald
and our flowerbed became a mirror
on which all the heavenly constellations took rest...
and the night gave a cry, and fell
to your feet like a wounded bat.
Konstanty Ildefons Galczynski
Dance Poetry
A comprehensive anthology
Edited by Alkis Raftis
Copyright 2012